Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 57139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
I nudged him with my knee. “You just want a ruling in your favor.”
“Obviously.” He nipped my jaw, smiling against my skin. “But also: we have, by my very accurate clock, one hundred and sixteen minutes to be selfish.”
“Your very accurate clock,” I deadpanned. “Does it also brew coffee and file taxes? Because that would basically make you superhero-level. We could paint by numbers on your abs, then get W-9s for your cape.”
“You talk so dirty when you’re tired,” he said solemnly. “Also, I wouldn’t trust me with your taxes. I can only imagine what a mess they are. And I’m finding I’m really not that heroic.”
“Coward.”
“Villain?”
“Hot.”
He laughed, and for two heartbeats the world stayed outside the door like we’d asked it to.
Then a new ping hit my phone—the kind that vibrates all the way to your bones because you know it’s not junk. Ezra felt me tense. His hand tightened at my hip.
“Don’t look,” he said, a gentle command. I liked the softness in his voice followed by the Ezra like panicked look in his eyes that told me he was afraid this would all be undone—it was delicate as it was.
I looked anyway. The band-aid had to come off at some point and it was going to hurt no matter when.
A dozen mentions. Two new “updates from production.” A message from Aaron—short, careful:
We should talk today.
My stomach turned. The promise fluttered, fragile. All the lovely puzzle pieces must be put back together and finished.
Ezra exhaled through his nose. “We’ll handle it.”
“Promise?” I asked, hating how needy it sounded and not caring at all.
He brushed his mouth over my temple. “Promise.”
I stared at the ceiling a second longer, then shoved the phone face-down, climbed back on top of him, and kissed away the thought of anything but us.
“Not morning,” I reminded him.
“Scientifically accurate,” he agreed, hands settling on my hips. “And since you brought up calculations…”
“Do not turn this into a math lecture.”
“Too late,” he said, grinning up at me like a problem he loved solving. “Round three is a reasonable estimate.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR
EZRA
Not to make it weird but I have one of your voicemails saved so I never forget the way you sound when you laugh or cuss me out…that too.
—Ezra
Harper pulled on jeans and a sweater, still grumbling about Aaron’s text, and kissed me on the cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like we hadn’t just detonated our entire friendship the night before. I didn’t like it, not the night before part but the her leaving part. I knew it needed to be done, that Aaron was owed answers sooner rather than later and that the sooner she got the content uploaded and said ‘hey, look I’m giving the one that got away a chance’, that things will be totally fine.
Honestly, until then, it still felt like we were lying to everyone and on top of that, it just felt like we were dragging things along for views which I also wasn’t comfortable with. Her following had almost doubled since starting and I had to wonder where she wanted to go from here, another hurdle we had to cross. She was starting to make enough money that it was more than a fun side hustle but again, baby steps. It wasn’t my place to tell her what to do, not when I’d Cinderella’d my own content creating career but burned the slipper rather than leaving it for someone to find.
“I’ll be back,” she muttered whizzing through the kitchen, hair half-tamed, keys jangling. “Try not to start another bar fight while I’m gone.”
I scoffed.
“Can’t make promises I can’t keep.” I smiled until the door closed behind her and then I let my smile fall and allowed myself to give into the tiny ache in my chest where my heart was doing it’s best not to twist all over itself. Shit, this sucked.
I barely had a second to pace before the front door opened again.
“Oh, thank God,” I said, half-laughing, half-relieved. “You forgot your—”
Not Harper.
Grandma Blue.
In the flesh. Purse swinging, lipstick on point, eyes sharper than any pencil I’ve ever had, a stare down during elementary school sharpening wars. Dark times, really dark times. Always good to have a reminder in human form though.
“What the—how—” I stammered pointing from the door to her and back again. What did she do Spiderman her way in here? Was she on the ceiling only to drop in front of the door right when Harper left?
She breezed past me, dropped her bag on the counter like she still owned the place—which, technically, she did—and squinted.
She leaned in, her nose wrinkled as she took in a deep inhale and squinted. “You smell like a deviant of the sexual manner. As in, you’ve been participating in activities of the bedroom sort.”
Was it possible to choke guiltily? “Excuse me?”